by Pirateaba
“Whoa. That’s far. You sure a Courier can get there in a few days and not…weeks?”
Erin was hazy on distances, but three hundred and eighty miles seemed like a lot of distance to cover even if you had a car. Ilvriss sighed and cast his eyes to the ceiling.
“The average Courier can outdistance a horse over the course of a day, regardless of whether they could outrun one in a race. It will not take the Courier long. Hawk, I believe his name is.”
“Hold on, not long?”
Jelaqua frowned. She too had come alive with food and she was eating her fifth soufflé. Erin hadn’t made that many and she was worrying Ishkr was running out in the kitchen. The Selphid began counting on her fingers.
“A mounted rider with an able mount can travel up to sixty miles per day without Skills. So that means it’d take…six days? Seven?”
Ilvriss sneered over his cup at Jelaqua.
“I said horse, not horse and rider. And Hawk is a veteran [Courier], not some City Runner who has barely achieved the rank but still has the [Runner] class. He is able to travel over a hundred miles in a day.”
Erin stared at Ilvriss.
“So it’ll take four days for him to get to Pallass. Maybe three. You know, you could just say that and not be a jerk about it.”
The Wall Lord growled at her. Mrsha poked him with a claw. He stared incredulously at the Gnoll and then glared at Erin.
“Why are you sitting here? I am used to the dignity and space my station deserves. Were Peslas serving me, I would feel far more comfortable.”
“You’re staying at the Tailless Thief?”
Erin’s brows rose. Ilvriss smiled.
“Indeed. It is the only acceptable inn in the entire city.”
The [Innkeeper] shrugged.
“If you say so. I thought Peslas was kind of a jerk when I met him, though. But then, he’s sort of like you.”
“Stop calling me that!”
Ilvriss’ left eye began to twitch. Erin grinned at him, and then frowned seriously.
“But he really is one. You know, the Halfseekers were staying at his inn until he kicked them out. Just because Jelaqua’s a Selphid and Moore’s big.”
The Lord of the Wall looked up. Jelaqua waved at him and raised her voice.
“We don’t mind! We’re used to it. Besides, here is nicer. Oi, Ishkr! More soufflés! Give me three more! Moore and I are hungry!”
The Drake eyed the Halfseekers and looked troubled for the first time.
“Peslas ejected them? He should not have done that. I am familiar with the Halfseekers. A Gold-rank team that has featured two Drakes among their number. You there, Selphid.”
Jelaqua looked up, spoon halfway to her mouth.
“Me? I have a name. It’s Jelaqua.”
“Ivirith the Tempest. I recall. What became of two of your number? You had a Scorchling in your ranks a few years ago. Halassia Evergleam. What became of her?”
The Halfseekers paused and all three looked up. Moore’s face twisted and he bowed his head. Seborn looked at Ilvriss as Jelaqua glanced at the Redfang Goblins who had paused in their seats. That was all the answer Ilvriss needed. He bowed his head.
“I see. I trust her remains were sent back to her family?”
“They didn’t want them. We buried her ourselves.”
There was a strained note in Jelaqua’s voice. She stared at Ilvriss. Erin looked from her to the Wall Lord. She felt like she shouldn’t ask, but she had to.
“Um…what’s a Scorchling?”
“A half-Drake.”
Seborn answered for both of them. The Drowned Man gulped down another glass of water as he spoke, his deep and echoing voice somber.
“They’re a kind of Oldblood Drake. Only, the way their heritage manifests isn’t in wings or the ability to breath fire. They’re born burnt by the fires within them. Most die with their mothers, but the few who survive live with their curse. The fire in their bodies makes their scales flake off, and causes them pain. Scorchlings are half-Drake and half ash, or so it’s said. In truth, they’re just people with a curse.”
“Shunned.”
Moore spoke the one word and closed his eyes. Ilvriss nodded.
“They are. But some make a name for themselves even so. I knew of Halassia. She was born in Salazsar. That she considered you her allies, and that you took her in—I remembered your name, Halfseekers. For the kindness you offered Halassia when her kin would not, I thank you.”
He bowed his head, surprising everyone again. Erin looked at him.
“You don’t think Scorchlings are cursed?”
He glared at her.
“Half-Drake, you mean? Do I look like I’m afraid of ancient curses or believe in that superstition? No. And even if I did—half a Drake is still worth more than any Human, Gnoll, or any other species in this world. I personally believe such children cursed by our blood have the heart of true Drakes and should be treated as such.”
His little speech caused a hush, and made the Halfseekers look at him differently. Erin too. She leaned over and whispered to Mrsha.
“Now I can’t tell if he’s a jerk or just pretending.”
The Gnoll nodded. Ilvriss stared at both of them.
“I am going to leave now. Unexpectedly tolerable as this inn may be, I prefer the company of my own kind.”
He rose, rummaging at his money pouch. Erin interrupted him.
“Oh come on. You have to stay for dessert at least. I was going to save it for dinner, but—Ishkr! Bring out the cake!”
The word ‘cake’ made Mrsha choke on her soufflé and everyone in the room looked up. Ilvriss looked confused.
“Cake?”
It was a memory that Ishkr brought out of the kitchen, carefully set on a large plate. Erin saw the others in the room look at the cake and remember. She had first served it the night Brunkr had died. Erin stroked Mrsha’s head and smiled.
“It’s just cake, Ilvriss. It’s…good. I think you’ll like it. And it’s good to eat.”
She looked around, meeting the eyes of the Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers…Mrsha. Erin personally cut the cake and offered two slices to the Goblins, inviting them to call their friends. Ilvriss sniffed at his cake and watched as Mrsha hesitated over her slice. She looked sad for a moment, but then began to scarf the cake down. He pushed his own fork into the generously frosted slice of cake and bit. His eyes widened.
A sugar rush was not something Goblins had ever experienced. Erin saw Headscratcher’s eyes go round and Shorthilt immediately hunch over his cake as if he was afraid it would be stolen. She encouraged them to take three more slices down to their friends, but then decided to call them up—she feared the two Goblins would eat the extra cake themselves.
When she came back up, Ilvriss was scraping his plate with a fork and Mrsha was licking hers. She smiled expectantly at the Wall Lord. He cleared his throat, avoiding meeting her eyes.
“Mediocre at best, but I suppose it is original. I will have another piece. And some to take back with me. This is one dish that I have not encountered and I suppose I should share it with my subordinates. Unless…no, I’m sure Peslas can make the same.”
“I can give you another slice, but I’m afraid I have limited supplies of cake and I don’t want to sell it to someone who thinks it’s mediocre. Plus, you won’t get it anywhere else, Ilvriss.”
“What?”
Erin smiled evilly as the Wall Lord looked at her.
“As far as I know, no one has any baking powder or baking soda in this world but me. So that means my cakes are unique. No one can make anything like them even if they tried to copy it. Without me, the cake is a lie. No stupid Human, no cake.”
She paused and reconsidered her statement.
“Well, I suppose you could make cheesecake or angel food cake without baking soda. But that’s not real cake! Plus, I have whipped cream as well. Whoops! I forgot! Ishkr, for the second helping bring out the whipped cream!”
&nbs
p; This time Ilvriss made the cake disappear as fast as Mrsha. He couldn’t really find an excuse for that this time, so he just mumbled about being hungry. That only made Erin laugh, and Mrsha giggled, on a sugar high of her own. And maybe it was the sugar, the alcohol, or something else, but Erin could have sworn she saw Ilvriss smile as well.
Just for a second. Then he was frowning at her and demanding to know how the cake was made. She laughed.
“With lots of sugar! And eggs! And flour and…well, it’s not good for you. You should probably exercise a bit.”
“I should?”
Ilvriss stroked at his face and then seemed to realize the state he was in for the first time. He felt at his eyes, his mussed clothing, and sat straighter.
“Dead gods, if Periss could see me—once I return, I’ll have to lead those lazy subordinates of mine in running laps around the walls! Ten to begin with, and I might as well teach Swifttail some sword drills while I’m at it.”
He sat straighter, and Erin saw a bit of fire ignite in his eyes. Maybe it was just burning pride, but it was what he needed, and she was glad of it. She smiled.
“Okay, but for now, I guess I will sell you that cake. And I have a special drink you might want to try before you go. It’s made with flowers.”
“Hmf. I suppose I can try—did you say another cake?”
“Yup. You can pay me a lot of money for it and give some to Peslas. Tell him he’ll never make it in a thousand years since I have an ingredient he can’t copy!”
Erin smirked, thinking of the way her pizza and hamburger recipes had been copied. Well, she’d have a monopoly on cake until people realized that Octavia was selling baking soda. She saw Ishkr bringing out the second cake and had to hold Mrsha back from getting at it.
Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater were having their slices of cake—and punching Headscratcher and Shorthilt who’d nibbled at the frosting—and Ilvriss was fumbling at his money pouch as Ishkr gave the second-to-last slice of cake to Yvlon. She’d eaten slowest out of everyone in the room.
By contrast, Ceria, Pisces, and Ksmvr had inhaled theirs. Actually, it was easier to say that of the inn’s guests, only Moore, Seborn, Erin, and Yvlon had shown restraint; everyone else had scarfed their first and second pieces down. Ksmvr was practically vibrating in place.
There was another whole cake sitting pristine in front of Ilvriss. Mrsha was nearly dribbling over it. Erin was asking Ishkr to bring up the last slice to Bird and Yvlon was fighting off Pisces and Ksmvr as she laughingly held her slice of cake up in the air. She turned to the doorway, holding her plate in her hands and froze.
The plate and slice of cake fell from her grip. The plate shattered onto the floor and Ksmvr and Mrsha dove for the cake. Pisces caught it in one hand and fled both of them. But Yvlon took no notice. She stared towards the open door, her face suddenly pale. Erin turned.
Someone was standing in the doorway, his body silhouetted against the setting sun. She shaded her eyes and a silver flash revealed a [Knight] in armor. He strode through the doorway, followed by a half-Elven [Mage] and a Dwarf dressed in full plate armor. The knight looked at Yvlon and removed his helmet. She gasped and spoke a name.
“Ylawes?”
Ylawes Byres smiled as he looked at his younger sister.
“Yvlon. At last I’ve found you.”
His eyes swept across the room and his warm smile froze for a second as he spotted Jelaqua, Moore and Seborn. Then he saw the Redfang Warriors sitting at the back of the inn. They shot up from their table, grabbing at their weapons and yelling. Ylawes swore and grabbed for his sword. He unsheathed it as he tore the shield from his side and raised it—
A cake smashed into his face. Erin sighed as the [Knight] blinked and frosting spattered off his once-gleaming armor and onto the floor. Mrsha was giving Erin a betrayed look. Erin raised her hands.
“See, this is why you always bake three cakes. Ishkr, go get me another.”
She sat down as Ylawes blinked at her and the Dwarf by his side began to laugh. Erin sighed, and then smiled. Her inn was getting weird again. Weirder, she should say. She looked at Ilvriss and he stared at her.
“Is your inn always like this, Human?”
Her laughter was his only reply.
4.44 M
Chaos reigned at Lady Magnolia’s estate outside of Invrisil. Servants of all stations rushed through the expensive and expansive hallways or gathered together talking urgently in small groups. Such confusion was not normal for any location under Magnolia—or rather, Ressa’s—authority, which made the scene all the worse to behold. But perhaps it was inappropriate to describe the situation that way.
Chaos reined over the Magnolia estate, pulling it out of its carefully controlled environment. If every house had an owner and every household its own ruler, then Magnolia and Ressa were the two monarchs of the estate. One was a tyrant, the other a generally benevolent ruler with a penchant for sweets. However, their rule had been upset, their authority overturned and chaos had gleefully seized the metaphorical reins and driven the household into madness.
Or did chaos as an abstract concept rain over the household? Yes, perhaps that was it. Chaos, that most insidious of forces trickled down from the heavens or whatever nebulous plane of existence it resided in, filling the hearts of the people below with confusion.
It was said that Magnolia’s servants were like her fingers. Some, many, were mundane [Maids] and [Manservants] and so on who actually did what their classes suggested. They cooked, swept, and cleaned her many estates and enjoyed a protected, if sometimes unusual, lifestyle under their mistress’s authority. But as anyone in the know knew, some of Magnolia’s servants had…other functions.
They were assassins, spies, warriors, mages, and occasionally, rude. And when they went out into the world at her command, they resolved her issues. Magnolia’s fingers danced across the continent and sometimes the world, influencing events, securing power, removing obstacles—giving her the reputation of ‘The Deadly Flower Blooming In the North’. That was a rather longwinded way of saying she was a flower, a [Lady], delicate, unsuited to war in her Skills and classes, but nevertheless possessed of thorns.
And she could make her fingers play an exquisite melody if she so chose. So what had let chaos—in any way, shape or form—into her mansion was that the hand that guided said fingers was different today. It was scaly, rather larger, and at the moment, clenching a sheaf of papers as the owner strode about Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion, shouting at people.
It was probably easier to say it that way. There was chaos at Magnolia Reinhart’s household. A simple sentence and easy to grasp. But then, what is chaos without context?
—-
“Details!”
Zel Shivertail’s voice boomed through the hallways, making two [Maids] jump and nearly drop the trays they were holding. They gingerly approached the huge Drake [General], wincing at the volume of his voice as he shouted loudly enough for half the mansion to hear.
“I want details! Get me every report, every message from all the cities that’s sending soldiers to the front! And if they haven’t written down the exact specifications of the soldiers they’re sending—levels, classes, how many per unit, officers and so on—send a message back and demand an immediate reply! How hard is it to ask? I don’t care if it’s nightfall—this is a military matter and they should know where their damned soldiers are at all times!”
He whirled and one of the Human [Maids] flinched. Zel stared at her and carefully plucked the single piece of fine white paper off of the tray she held. He looked at it and then bellowed again.
“And stop bringing me reports one at a time! Collect them, organize them, and—in the name of the Ancestors, stop sneaking up on me like that! Raise your voice if you want my attention!”
He turned and the [Maids] both fled at once. Zel raked a hand across the spines on his head and neck, muttering as he read down the short page. He crumpled the delicate and expensive paper wi
th one claw.
“Ridiculous! ‘400 soldiers from the city of Befton will meet at the location provided as requested?’ That’s not a reply! It’s not coded, it’s not specific—what routes are these soldiers taking? Are they [Soldiers] or a militia? Do they have an officer? What are their levels? And when will they arrive? Do Humans not have any sense of organization?”
“I believe we do. However, you would not know it to look at my household at the moment. General Shivertail, has it occurred to you that our people do things differently for a reason?”
A calm voice interrupted the [General]’s ranting. Zel Shivertail swung around and pointed a finger at Magnolia Reinhart as she sat in a chair, sipping at a cup of tea. Splayed around her largest sitting room were tables that had been hurriedly carried in and filled with different reports on paper and parchment, communications by [Message] spell across the continent.
It was an impressive sight and being added to every second by servants hurrying into the room. Still, Zel was not happy and so he growled at Magnolia.
“Don’t patronize me, Reinhart. I don’t care if you Humans enjoy dancing around rocks while singing naked in the moonlight—this is a matter of organization and I can’t lead an army if I don’t know where it is or who I’m leading! You promised me an army! This is a nightmare! Don’t you have any [Strategists] or [Lieutenants] or—anyone who could have warned you what a nightmare this was?
Magnolia Reinhart sighed and lowered her cup. Her face was calm and she was sitting still in an elegant dress, but her right foot jiggled—a sign of an impending sugar rush. She put aside her cup and another hand, Ressa’s, took it away before it could be refilled. The [Maid] tilted the cup so she could see the slurry of sugar mixed with tea and grimaced. Magnolia took no notice, but replied quickly and directly, focusing entirely on the Drake.
“While I know many such individuals, I do not, as a rule, consult with them on most matters, General Shivertail. I regret to say that I am woefully ignorant of all military affairs, which is why I sought a [General] worthy of the name to lead the army I was raising. My apologies—I thought simply requesting the soldiers would do. I had no idea coordinating their arrivals were so important.”
